Gray
by GabbyAbby
Summary: For a moment she is his piano. With his fingers, long and worn out, dancing and skipping, creating a song he knows so well and won’t admit to be his favorite.


**Gray**

**A/N: **So they still refuse to hand them over to me, most likely because I am in fact a nut job, but hey…..I'm a cute nut job. Anyway I got the idea for this when I was listening to 'Figured You Out' by Nickelback. Hope it is to your taste.

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A complex mixture of colors that should never been put together in the first place. Because together they became too much. No one could handle the change they went through on daily basis. Green, brown, honey, gray.

One color for every time of the day.

One for every emotion, the ones that she just had to show so openly.

He groans, throws his head back and groans. Loudly even if he tries to muffle the sound through gritted teeth.

His hand holds a fistful of silky curls. His body shakes with a sensation he hasn't felt in a long time.

Her mouth is perfect, it's everything he always imagined it would be.

And.. Fuck.

His knuckles almost white from how hard he's gripping golden strands, he has a few moments earlier has not long ago freed from that annoyingly perfect ponytail. For a moment he wonders if it hurts her. It probably does, but she isn't complain.

Almost there.

Her fingers, cold pads so soft. Everything about her is soft. They run up his thigh, in patters that drive him crazy in less than a second.

He is almost in agony, throbbing, ragging for release.

Then she stops and all he can see was a mixture of green and blue.

"I like the ending of this game too you know" he says in a tone that is so close to being friendly, loving. It scares him. But everything about her scares him.

She is the diseases he loves to diagnose; she sneaked inside of him, building and reproducing. Crawling inside all the little cavities no matter how tiny they were, until he was almost dying. Because she wasn't suppose to be there.

Allison Cameron was also not supposed to be on her knees, with her eyes sparkling in the way they do and him with his pants around his knees and fingers twirled around her hair. Begging her to continue.

"Well the game is much more fun if I'm on top of you doing something else"

She winks and pushes him down on the couch and the leather feels a bit uncomfortable because his back is bare and sweaty.

But he lets her sit on top of his stomach, and he pushes her dress up, pooling it between their bodies so it covers everything that could be seen.

Because he knows that if he sees everything that is her, he'll be lost.

And everything that comes with her, in that package that was just too fucking good to be true, is absolutely magnificent.

The movements, a choreography they both knew well. Because it has been rehearsed many times before.

On his bed, her bed, the couch, the table, the shower, the floor, his office, the locker room shower.

He holds her still when she orgasms, because if they move she will be so tight and sleek and wonderful. He doesn't want the moment to end, because when it does he'll get up and get dressed and leave her with nothing but a promise that this will happen again.

She moans and tries to keep moving, because she loves the feel of him. The power, the length. The everything.

But he holds her, and strokes her pale skin with long fingers that would probably fit more with him if people knew about his love of the piano.

For a moment she is his piano. With his fingers, long and worn out, dancing and skipping along her pale features. Creating a song he knows so well and won't admit to be his favorite.

Tap one, two, three. Skip, four, five, six.

Crescendo, retardando, a tie holding two notes together. And then two bars, one next to the other because it's the end, to the beautiful piece that is her. He has to leave, put space between what he loves and can not love. Because she is everything he doesn't need, doesn't want.

Everything he can't live without.

So in his mind he adds two dots before the bars, one right on top of the other.

Indicating that the piece needs to be repeated, start from the beginning letting the melody he so dearly needs float around him once again. Until it comes to that point again. Then he will think of what needs to be done.

Tonight he doesn't go, no he gets up and pulls her body, limp and exhausted and entirely satisfied, into her bed.

Because he needs to rework on the song, he needs to add changes.

From gray to green to honey.

He needs to mix it with the low angst that is ice blue, entangle them together even if they aren't meant to be.

He will find a way. He has after all the greatest mind of his life time probably.

So he will create a tune that will have a bit of both, changing and twirling and mixing.

Until they come together in an explosion of chords and notes.

Then, at that moment, he will admit that he loves her.

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**See that is what happens when I do nothing but study...what you may ask this has to do with statistics or physics, I ****can not**** answer. **

**Well please review….. I kind of like this piece even though it's short and swerves from the beginning. But hey that's what I do.**

_**GabbyAbby**___


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